It Just Kind of Happened
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Stiles accidentally overdoses, and Derek keeps getting visions of Stiles that just won't leave him alone. A mixture of hc and fluff.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

**A/N:** This story was written for my hc_bingo card, for the square, medication, as requested by SpaghettiTacos. I have included a works cited section at the end of this document, in case anyone wishes to check the sources I used for the purposes of writing this story. Tonight, my sister told me about how a friend of hers accidentally overdosed on Adderall and his mother got this funny feeling that something was wrong, so she went to check on her son. When she found him, he was lying face down in bed, and when she turned him over, he was bleeding from the mouth. He survived (after a trip to the emergency room). I've taken some of the elements of that true story, as well information that I learned through research, and have woven them into this story.

An accidental overdose on any drug should involve a trip to the doctor as there can be some serious complications, and any overdose has the potential to be fatal.

The style of writing is a bit experimental with regard to sentence and paragraph structure, as well as the use of repetition (liberties have been taken). I hope that it is not off-putting, and that you enjoy reading the story, and that you will let me know if you do enjoy it, even in a small measure.

First words toward NaNo!

* * *

Stiles didn't mean to do it.

It just kind of happened.

Like a lot of things in his life recently.

Scott becoming a werewolf. That had happened.

Lydia being Jackson's reason d'être. That, too, had happened.

Stiles falling in love with Derek. Yeah, even that had just happened.

Derek being the dark, brooding, handsome and yet unattainable older man. Happened. Happening. Will more than likely continue to happen.

Unrequited love.

Story of his life.

Lydia.

Derek.

. . . H-A-P-P-E-N-I-N-G . . .

He was the Bella to Derek's Edward, or maybe the Jacob to Derek's Bella.

Either way, he wasn't getting any love.

So, really, he shouldn't be so surprised about this.

Except, he kind of was.

Surprised.

Because, well, this – managing his medication – he'd been doing for most of his life.

An accidental overdose.

That was unprecedented.

And it wasn't like he had told Derek that he was interested in him.

He hadn't.

Definitely Bella in this situation. Or wait, no, Edward. Edward was the one with the unbeating, yet pining, heart. The one who was afraid to come clean with Bella and himself.

But, Derek was definitely not Bella in this situation. Way too manly and much, much too growly and…he always smelled like rain and dirt. Masculine. Not girly or clumsy. Not Bella.

Not that he'd read the _Twilight_ books.

But, it was hard to grow up in this day and age without hearing something about the sappy romantic saga.

And that brings him back to the reason for his accidental overdose.

English class.

An essay due in little under two hours now.

Comparing the theme in Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ with Stephanie Meyers' _Twilight. _

Wait.

He _had_ read the book.

And watched the movie. And all of the others.

Purely for academic reasons. Of course. Just to get a feel for the characters and the theme. Not because he was curious about how things had worked out or anything like that.

He hadn't really liked the book.

Much too . . . sentimental . . . and . . . syrupy . . . and . . . _girly._

And he hadn't almost totally fallen for Jacob – Derek without a shirt, Derek wearing one of Stiles' shirts, Danny eye candy, man candy, candy candy, and isn't that dandy? Or was that liquor?

There was an hour and fifty-five minutes left to get his essay done, should be quicker. Quicker than liquor, and was that Derek tap, tap, tapping at his window? No a bird, definitely a bird. And what a funny word bird was. Rhymed with word. Bird. Bird. B-irrrrd. Strange word. The bird.

Like Poe's, "Raven," it was tapping at his window. But it wasn't black. It was white. White and tilting its head and looking at him like it could see into his very soul.

And he really should get back to his essay, but the words, like birds, weren't sticking to the paper like they should – they were flitting about, flying off the page and soaring through his room, through his head, out, out through the window and up, up, up into the sky. It's a bird, it's a plane, it's Stiles' English theme – word trailing after word streamed out of his window, jumping right off of the paper in his tight, yet somehow loopy scrawl.

His English teacher probably wouldn't have been able to read it anyway, even if the words had stayed where they were supposed to. Because they were shaky and crooked and some of the letters didn't even look like letters, but were comprised of strange shapes, like hieroglyphics. It was a wonder he could write at all, what with the way his pen had been fighting with him.

Stiles flung the pen away from him in disgust when it wouldn't write the words he wanted it to, but insisted upon writing, in big block letters, the word – DEREK – over and over and over again. His English paper was covered with the werewolf's name, and maybe he had forgotten to take his Adderall, because wasn't it supposed to control his impulses, not make them worse?

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, Stiles reached for the small bottle of pills and tried to get his hand to stop trembling so that he could open it and take some more medication. He just wanted everything to stop – his thoughts, the spinning room, the words that had given up flying in favor of climbing the walls, and the overly happy, happy feelings that he got whenever he pictured Derek Hale's face in close proximity to his own. He couldn't sit still, his heart felt like it was racing, and his crumpled up English paper kept singing the name, "Derek," to him in a falsetto voice.

* * *

As the first few rays of dawn began to spread themselves out over the forest floor painting it with intermittent streaks of gold and pink, Derek felt ill-at-ease. He tried to force his thoughts away from where they kept veering off to – Stiles.

He breathed out as he twisted his torso to the left and completed his fiftieth sit-up. He was hanging upside down from a beam in the ceiling, and starting on the second hour of his routine morning workout, yet his mind kept returning to thoughts of Stiles and he just couldn't seem to shake them, no matter how hard he tried.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut.

If he'd learned one thing from his sister, Laura, it was that an alpha should always trust her, or his, instincts. It was part and parcel of being a werewolf, and what helped to ensure their survival in a world that was not exactly werewolf friendly.

Not trusting his gut, and that persistent little voice at the back of his mind which had warned him that Kate was bad news, had led to the annihilation of his family. The loss of his pack, his life.

He blamed himself, blamed his love for a mere human. He didn't want to make the same mistakes again. He didn't want to lose the small pack which he had just begun to gather to himself for the sake of another human.

Derek's gut burned as he twisted his torso to the left and pulled himself up, toward the beam. He breathed out though his mouth and tried to stop thinking of Stiles. He could picture the boy – leg bouncing in time to the beat of some rhythm that he never bothered to share with anyone else, speech constantly pouring from his mouth as he spoke aloud every rambling thought that popped into his head, unblinking eyes that seemed to take in everything, and close-cropped hair that looked like it might be soft to the touch.

_Derek! _

The sound of his name being called caused Derek to stop his sit-up mid-twist and he looked around for the source of the voice. He stilled his breathing and stretched his sense of hearing, focused on his sense of smell, and tried to determine the location of the intruder.

He was alone.

_Derek, hurry._

Even with his eyes closed and his attention focused completely on his other senses, Derek pictured Stiles. The boy's freckles stood out in stark contrast to his much too pale complexion, his eyes were closed and shrouded by long, dark eyelashes, and his breaths came in quick, gusty pants of air. Little beads of sweat covered Stiles' face, and the boy twitched, his eyes moved rapidly beneath the closed lids, and his lips were moving, but no sound was coming from them, or maybe it was just that Derek couldn't hear the boy from where he was.

_Hurry._

Guided solely by animal instinct, Derek dropped from the ceiling and landed nimbly on his feet, like a cat. As he ran in the direction that his gut was pulling him, he transformed into a wolf, kicking up the dirt behind him into small whirlwinds of dust that lingered long after he'd sprinted away.

The picture of Stiles, struggling to breathe, lips turning blue from the effort, spurred him onward. When he reached the boy's house, Derek didn't stop running; he leapt through the open window, transforming from wolf to human at the same time. He landed squarely in the middle of Stiles' room, and searched the room for Stiles.

Derek hoped that what he'd seen in his mind's eye had only been a figment of his imagination, that it wasn't directly tied to his status as an alpha werewolf, because if it was, that meant that Stiles was more than just a human sidekick who sometimes helped him and the pack out. If what Derek had seen was real, it meant that Stiles was a part of his pack, that he – the wolf – saw Stiles as a member of his ragtag family, and that the boy was in serious danger.

Closing his eyes, Derek stood in the middle of the bedroom and listened. The sound of an arrhythmic heartbeat accompanied by frenetic breathing led him to the far side of the room. The teen was sprawled face down on the floor, his body was sandwiched between the wall and his bed, and there was a small, brown cylindrical bottle lying next to his left hand. Orange and blue capsules littered the floor. It looked as if the pill bottle had exploded and the drugs had rained down around Stiles.

Derek knelt by the teen, and carefully rolled him onto his back. Stiles' neck wasn't broken, but he was hyperventilating, and his heart was beating erratically and much too quickly. Derek brushed the pills aside, sent them scattering across the floor, and he scooped Stiles off the floor.

The teen was running a fever, and Derek didn't like how pale he looked – just as Stiles had appeared in the vision he'd had of him. The thought that he'd almost been too late, that if he'd hesitated for just a minute longer, maybe even only a few seconds, Stiles might have died, was a sobering one for Derek and he cradled Stiles to his chest.

Stiles gave off a stench that reminded Derek of spoilt milk and dirty, sweaty socks, and his nose wrinkled up in disgust at the overpowering odor, but he didn't let go of the boy. Derek pulled the covers back, and laid Stiles down on the bed. He couldn't leave Stiles alone. There was no indication that Mr. Stilinski was home as Derek didn't hear a second heartbeat in the house.

Making a split-second decision that put Stiles' welfare ahead of his own, Derek crawled into the bed and positioned himself behind Stiles. He wrapped his arms around the boy, and pulled the teen's body flush against his. Stiles mumbled something incoherent, and Derek held his breath, hoping that the boy wouldn't wake.

Almost immediately, Stiles' heartbeat began to slow and his breathing started to even out. Soon, his heart began to mark time with Derek's. The sour, sick smell which had permeated the air and stung Derek's nostrils began to dissipate. As Derek started to drift off to sleep, lulled by the sound of Stile's heartbeat, the power of his touch brought comfort and healing to Stiles, even without his willful consent.

* * *

At some point in time, as the morning hours stretched into early afternoon, Stiles turned in his sleep. His ear was pressed to Derek's chest and his head was safely tucked within the crook of the werewolf's neck. Derek's body subconsciously rearranged itself to accommodate the teen's unspoken needs.

When Stiles woke, he blinked to clear his vision, because something solid and just a touch hairy was blocking it, and he thought that maybe he was hallucinating, again, because he was almost more than a little certain that he'd been hallucinating at one point in time during his very long and not at all good night. He drew a sharp intake of air and moved to sit up, but something strong and unforgiving was wrapped around him and he was trapped.

Stiles only panicked a moment, or at least that's what he later claimed, once his embarrassment had worn off. He struggled with his bindings, and when they only seemed to tighten around him, he realized that he was being held, that the bindings were actually comprised of flesh and blood. He did the only sensible thing he could think of to do. He opened his mouth, bared his teeth, and bit down, hard.

Stiles' teeth sunk into flesh and a startled yelp caused him to realize several things all at once. The first thing he realized was that he was face to chest with a very muscular individual. The second thing he realized was that the muscular individual was holding him. The third thing that he realized was that the muscular individual holding him was Derek Hale.

"Wha?" Derek's arms were like vices around Stiles as the werewolf wriggled a little and then settled against the mattress. He drew Stiles along with him and put the teen into an even more compromising position than he'd been in before. The teen was now lying half atop Derek's naked torso. "Go back to sleep, you're sick," the still half asleep werewolf muttered.

"Uh, Derek?" Stiles asked, his lips accidentally brushed against Derek's chest and he self-consciously licked them, his tongue picked up on the taste of pennies and patchouli when it came into contact, not with his own lips, but with Derek's warm skin.

"Stiles?"

"You're holding me," Stiles said, wondering if he was still hallucinating.

"Yes," Derek said around a yawn. "And your body needs more sleep."

"My body…" Stiles raised his head to look at Derek's face, hoping to find an answer for the absurd declaration that the man had made, but the werewolf's eyes were closed, so he placed his head back on the wide expanse of Derek's chest, and listened to the steady beat of the man's heart. "How do you know what my body needs?"

"Sleep," Derek commanded, and Stiles yawned. "We'll talk later.

"But…"

"Stiles," Derek's chest rumbled when he growled.

Stiles peeked up at Derek's face and swallowed when the werewolf opened just one of his eyes and glared at him.

"So, we'll talk later? After cuddling?" Stiles asked and then he quickly closed his eyes and settled against Derek's chest.

"'M not cuddling," Derek said, but then his hands repositioned themselves so that one of them was resting just above Stiles' ass, and the other was on his upper back. He tucked Stiles' head beneath his chin once again, and Stiles thought that maybe Derek wasn't really a werewolf, but a very handsy octopus.

In the end, Stiles decided that it didn't matter whether Derek was a werewolf or an octopus or a human-sized and shaped pillow, because Stiles no longer felt like his world was about to spin free of its axis and send him flying apart at the seams. It was like Derek grounded him.

Stiles let the werewolf's sturdy heartbeat soothe him into a restful sleep and he dreamed of a man eating octopus with one too many arms. He, a seafaring youth, fell into the clutches of the terrible sea creature, but, instead of crushing him with its powerful tentacled arms, and squeezing the life out of him, it held him firmly, yet gently.

And that's really the beginning of the story of how Stiles fell in love with Derek and Derek fell in love with Stiles.

Like a great deal of the things in Stiles' life, it just kind of happened.

* * *

Works Cited

Corson-Knowles, Tom. "Adderall Nutrition Tips For Breaking The Addiction." _Adderall Nutrition Tips For __Breaking The AddictionÂ |Â _. Wordpress, 15 May 2012.

Web. 02 Nov. 2012. w ww. tomcorsonknowles blog/adderall-nutrition-tips-for-breaking-the- addiction/.

Davis, Jeff, and Tim Andrew, prods. "Teen Wolf." _Teen Wolf_. MTV. MTV, 2012. Television.

Monson, Kristi, PharmD, and Arthur Schoenstadt, MD. "Adderall Overdose." _Adderall Overdose_. Clinareo, Inc., 09 July 2009. Web. 02 Nov. 2012. : / /adhd.

emedtv adderall/ adderall-overdose.

Wada, Jane. "Adderall Overdose Symptoms." _EHow_. Demand Media, 17 Sept. 2009. Web. 02 Nov. . ehow about_ 5428169_ adderall-overdose-symptoms.

* * *

Please feed the muse so that she feels appreciated. She doesn't bite the hands that feed her. She might be tempted to nibble on fingers, but just a little. I really need sleep.


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